


Break the Night

by tryslora



Category: Fairy Tales and Related Fandoms, Little Red Riding Hood (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Point of View, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:21:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He catches the scents on the air: innocence and hunger, exhaustion and sweat.</p>
<p>Male. Human. Adult, but not old.</p>
<p>He catalogs these things, taking stock, making certain that he knows what he stalks.</p>
<p>After all, he is Wolf and he is hunger personified. He is anger and desire. He is sound and fury.</p>
<p>Wolf hunts, and his prey will fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break the Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eida/gifts).



> I couldn't resist! I tried to give you the viewpoint from the other side (the wolf) and LGBTQ characters. At the same time, I might have twisted the original fairy tale on its ear and added in some components from other tales. I hope you enjoy this retelling!

He catches the scents on the air: innocence and hunger, exhaustion and sweat.

Male. Human. Adult, but not old.

He catalogs these things, taking stock, making certain that he knows what he stalks.

After all, he is Wolf and he is hunger personified. He is anger and desire. He is sound and fury.

Wolf hunts, and his prey will fall.

#

His feet were wet.

It was almost the final straw. Kris wore old, well-worn hiking boots, and he had _trusted_ them. They’d carried him on a long stretch of the Appalachian Trail, and they’d hiked up most of the high peaks in New York, but now they’d finally failed. A stick had ripped a hole in the side, and no amount of waterproofing was going to save his wool socks.

Kris’s feet were wet, and the wool rubbed and he knew blisters were starting. On top of that, the rain showed no signs of stopping, and he was still a few miles out from his grandmother’s cabin in the woods.

He should have brought the Jeep.

Any _sane_ guy would’ve brought the Jeep.

So there wasn’t a road. So the path through the trees was barely Jeep wide and full of potholes (and some occasional muddy ditches). So it would’ve been a miserable drive.

At least Kris would’ve been _dry_ and probably there already.

Instead, it was Christmas Eve and Kris was wearing a backpack full of one change of clothes, some snacks for the hike, and a carefully wrapped bundle from his mom of treats for his grandmother. Because Kris was the only one willing to go visit her this deep in the woods, and she refused to leave her cabin and join the family on Christmas Day.

Normally Kris wouldn’t have minded. He was close to his grandmother, always had been since she took him on his first hike when he was barely old enough to waddle along. They shared a love of the outdoors.

But this… this rain… it exhausted him, and he didn’t have a tent with him, so there was nothing to do for it but keep trudging along and hope he managed to get there before dark.

If it were any other woods, he wouldn’t mind camping out. Even without a tent, he was no stranger to sleeping under the stars.

But these woods… this place was different. He’d grown up on his grandmother’s stories and when his mother and brother tried to say Grandma was imagining things, Kris knew she wasn’t. There was something in the woods, something dark and strange, and Kris didn’t want to run into it.

#

Wolf stops when the prey stops. He sniffs the air, capturing frustration and storing that away as well. Anger. Irritation. Hunger renewed, and the prey delves into the pack it carries with an awkward reach to pull something out that doesn’t smell like food.

No, the boy, the _man_ smells enticing. Sweet. Salty. Wolf can hear the rush of blood beneath the skin and knows it would gush delightfully. Nourishing Wolf.

Wolf creeps forward.

“Who’s there?”

Prey stands and turns, looking out past wet fur on his head, one hand clenched by his side.

Wolf growls, and the prey steps back, wary.

Wolf emerges, lets the prey see him in his full stature. Fur standing up, back arched, his shoulder coming easily to the man’s hip. Wolf is large, and his teeth are bared, saliva wetting his tongue.

He snaps, and the prey stumbles back.

Fear.

Wolf scents fear, and his growl grows louder.

Dinner.

Now.

#

Kris scrambled backwards, not caring that his ass was soaked and muddy. His poncho was gone, ripped when he first caught it while moving quickly. His pack lay on the ground, and he had no idea where his knife was. And why didn’t he carry a gun? 

Because he wasn’t a hunter. He wasn’t a _killer_.

But that wolf… that wolf _was_ going to kill him. Kris knew it.

“Fuck, your eyes are huge.”

The wolf growled, and with a nervous laugh, Kris thought _all the better to see you with, my dear_. He couldn’t stop looking at those eyes, huge and wide, a soft shade of amber with flecks of gold. They weren’t wolf’s eyes. They were intelligent. Sharp. This was a hunter of intellect, and Kris knew with a thread of fear that he had been stalked. Quite possibly herded to this place. To his death.

The wolf’s mouth opened, yawning wide, saliva dripping from its tongue.

_All the better to_ _eat_ _you with, my dear_.

All Kris needed now was a huntsman, bearing a bow and preferably fit and cute as a nicely added bonus.

But no one appeared, and the wolf stalked closer step by step.

It didn’t pounce.

_Why didn’t it pounce?_

Kris gathered up his courage and held out one hand like he would to a strange dog. He didn’t bother saying anything; if the wolf was intelligent it would be insulted by the comparison to any domesticate animal.

He just let his hand hang there in the air between them. 

An offering.

#

The scent is a tang on his tongue, a strange, sweet, crisp thing that bursts over his senses.

Wolf doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t know how to take it.

He stops, mouth wide, teeth bared. He growls, but the prey doesn’t move.

It stands there, one hand out, and it _smells_.

Wolf steps closer until his muzzle brushes against that skin.

His tongue flicks out, tastes sweat and rain and feels the shiver that runs through his prey.

No fear, no longer. Curiosity and interest. Hunger of a different kind, light and airy and sweet as Wolf inhales.

He recognizes this.

He _knows_ this.

And it terrifies him.

With a startled yelp, Wolf turns tail and runs.

#

The rain was done and Kris still sat on a log, staring down at the ground, trying to muster the energy to keep moving. His watch had stopped when he slammed it against a log in his startlement at the wolf’s appearance, so he had no idea how long he sat. Dusk turned to dark, and he lit a flashlight.

He had to keep going.

But that… there was something odd in that encounter. Something wrong.

Something he needed to understand.

He had two choices at this point: he could continue on to his grandmother’s house, or he could chase the wolf. But in the dark, he knew he had little chance of finding the wolf, and even if he did, less of a chance of escaping safely. His best bet was to head for the house, get a good night’s sleep, and figure things out in the morning.

He stripped off sodden blue wool socks, replacing them with thick, dry red ones from deep within his pack. He let the soaked ones hang from the outside of his pack where they wouldn’t get anything else wet. He gathered up the shredded remains of his red (and easily visible to hunters) rain poncho and shouldered his pack.

Kris had to travel slowly in the dark, the flashlight a beacon to any predators that might be seeking him. He tried to listen, imagining footfalls in the leaves, stopping often to look behind him and sweep the darkness with his light.

Nothing.

The final mile felt like ten by the time he was done and stumbled to the door, knocking to be let in.

Grandma gave him fresh clothes and hot cider and wrapped him in blanket by the fire, and told him to sit there until he was warm.

Kris forgot everything else, and just let go, until his body felt human again.

#

Wolf sniffs at the edge of the clearing around the small cottage. He can’t go closer, can’t approach the house. He feels the wards, feels the way she has protected herself against his kind. Against the Cursed ones. Against the ones who are naught but pawns for magic.

The thoughts flee as quickly as they come, too mortal to be resident in a wolf’s mind. He thinks instead of hunger, the gnawing pit in his belly that aches for the dinner he has not yet had. He could find a hare in the woods, or perhaps a deer, but they do not pull at him the way this _human_ does.

If he cannot have this human, he will starve.

He lies down at the edge of the clearing, large grey head on folded paws, and closes his eyes. Humans rest when it is night, and Wolf will rest as well. When morning comes, he will dine. It will be late, but it will still sate his hunger. Then he can move on.

#

Kris snoozed in front of the fireplace, stretching out on the sofa and eventually falling into a deep sleep. He roused at the scent of coffee and bacon in the morning, and the sweet tartness of a cranberry spice muffin held beneath his nose.

Grandma laughed at the inarticulate noise he made, handing him the muffin for one hand and a mug for the other. Uncertain which he wanted more, Kris took a big bite of the muffin then washed it down with hot coffee.

“You had a rough hike here,” she said, settling into the other chair. She didn’t look a grandmother, not at first glance. It wasn’t that she’d had his mother young, either. She’d been almost thirty when she’d had Kris’s mom, and his mom had been twenty-five before Kris was born. Kris figured she was over seventy-five by now at the least, but her skin was tight, her body muscled, and she didn’t show her years except in the lines around her eyes, and the grey of her hair. She was anything but soft. “You should’ve waited. I’d have been fine on my own.”

“It’s Christmas,” Kris said, because it was, and this was tradition since he was sixteen and could drive out to the trail head on his own. “Besides, I would’ve been here faster if it weren’t for the wolf.”

The fire crackled and popped, the only sound in the space between the words. Grandma’s eyes narrowed, brow furrowing as she looked him over. “Were you bit?”

Kris shook his head. “It sniffed my hand, then it ran off.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, Kris was reminded of the wolf’s tawny gaze. His grandmother had brown eyes, but he could see the echoes of the firelight in them, lighting them with familiar amber. Then she blinked, and the impression was gone. “Well then, so that’s the way it lies. You know the wolf’s a male, don’t you?”

“I didn’t, but it was huge, so I’m not surprised.” Kris paused, then amended his words. “ _He_ was huge. Why? Does it matter?”

“Give me a moment, and I’ll explain.” She stood and slowly moved to the bookcases that lined one wall. Kris could see her age in the way she held herself as she walked, as if each step had to be carefully laid down upon the floor lest she tilt and fall. Her hands skimmed the books until she found one and drew it out. Upon regaining her seat, she opened it to show that it wasn’t a book at all, but a keepsake box.

Only one thing lay within: a bracelet of twisted gold and silver and dots of amber colored stones. “Tigers eye,” she said when his gaze lingered. “It’s not worth much if you were to try to sell it, but to this family, it’s priceless.”

“Why?” Kris raised his hand when she held out the bracelet. It was warm to the touch, surprisingly so. He curled his fingers around it.

“There’s a story there,” she replied, settling back in her chair. “A long time ago, your grandfather built this cottage and moved in. He thought it would be a good place to stay, but he found that he was plagued by wolves. There was a pack of them in the woods, and they came by nightly to make sure he stayed within these walls.

“But your grandfather, he was a stubborn git. Kind, too. He refused to kill any of them, but he needed to find a way to keep them from threatening him, so he went into town during the day to do a bit of research. And while he was there, he met a grizzled old man—”

“Aren’t they always?” Kris interrupted with a smile. This sounded more like a fairy tale than a family history, and his grandmother shushed him good-naturedly.

“The ones with the knowledge, they have to be old to have learned it, don’t they?” she said easily. “Anyway, this man, he had a story for your grandfather about _his_ grandfather, and how there was a pack of wolves that stuck close to him. See, they weren’t just _wolves_. They were intelligent, the old man said, something caught between human and animal. And the old man, he told your grandfather that _his_ grandfather had tamed one of them by placing a bracelet about her paw.

“He gave your grandfather the bracelet then, that one there that you have in your hand. And that very night, when the wolves came to circle this cottage, your grandfather went outside and he waited until one of the wolves was brave enough to approach. It took time before she trusted him, but as she nosed his cheek, taking in his scent, he put that bracelet about her paw.”

She folded her hands across her abdomen and watched him, and Kris knew there was something more he was supposed to hear that she hadn’t put into words. “He didn’t have a lick of trouble from the wolves since. Haven’t much seen them about, until now.”

Kris looked at the bracelet on his palm. “You want me to put this on the wolf.”

“That’s what your grandfather did.” She leveraged herself from the chair. “There’s bacon, when you’re done with that muffin. I’ll be writing a letter to your mom, thanking her. She always was the best baker I’ve known. Has a touch like nothing I’ve seen.”

“She is,” Kris murmured, still looking at the bracelet.

It sounded strange, but then, everything about this was odd. If he could convince the wolf to come close again, it was worth a try.

Right?

#

When it is the late edge of dusk, Wolf catches the scent again, and hackles rise. The prey has emerged from the cottage, stepping out, one hand held out in front of him.

Wolf steps forward, sniffing the air, and starts to growl. The prey stops and crouches.

It is a pose of submission, bringing himself lower than Wolf. The prey sits. Tilts his head back as he watches Wolf.

And still he holds his hand out, palm up, fingers lightly spread.

Wolf pads forward on slow feet as dusk falls to night. He noses that palm, inhales the scent of the fingertips. It is intoxicating, making his blood bubble and sing. He wants to rub his face along that hand, to crawl in closer and sprawl across this man.

The touch to his paw, when it comes, is cold. Clinging. Something sparks, then twists painfully in his gut.

Wolf rears back and howls, head thrown back and body arched. Something ripples beneath his skin and he fights it desperately not knowing what this new curse will become.

Pain slips into his soul and he is lost in the howl, succumbing to darkness when it is done.

#

Kris sat back on his heels, not quite certain what to believe.

The wolf… was no longer a wolf.

Instead it was a man lying there, naked with skin that burned hot to the touch when Kris let his fingertips skim across one well-muscled shoulders. The dark hair was familiar, as was the thick pelt that furred his chest and legs. He couldn’t see the man’s eyes, but Kris knew they would be amber with flecks of gold, just like the wolf. This man, who lay there now with the bracelet about his wrist, unconscious but breathing evenly.

His grandmother was once a wolf.

That was the only logical conclusion Kris could make. If his grandfather had once tamed a wolf, then… but what did that mean for Kris.

He lightly touched that bare shoulder again, and heard a soft growl.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The wolf opened his eyes—his _human_ eyes—and stared at Kris. He blinked several times, nostrils flaring as he inhaled roughly, then sighed he air out. He sat up and leaned in, grabbing Kris without warning and pulling him down, lips meeting lips in a rough kiss.

“Whoa.” Kris pushed back, dazed. When the wolf growled, he held up one hand. “No, wait. Just wait. I think we have a few things to sort first, like you being able to speak English and wear some clothes. And being completely human. The kissing, well, that’s good. You’re attractive, I’m not going to argue that, and you obviously think I’m your type, which is handy. I don’t mind. But just two minutes ago you were a wolf.”

The words, when they came, were rough around the edges, hoarse from disuse. “I was human,” he said. “Until my thirteen birthday, when the curse took hold, and I’ve been wolf ever since.”

“I broke your curse.” Kris grinned, the expression lopsided. The wolf didn’t respond, and Kris thought that the wolf needed a name. He probably _had_ a name, but perhaps he needed time right then to remember what it meant to be human, and what the trappings of his life might have been.

He stood slowly, offering his hands and drawing the wolf with him. When the wolf wavered on two legs, Kris caught him and held him tight. “Let’s get you a shower and some dinner. And some clothes. I promise, everything’s going to be just fine.”

#

Wolf inhales, and he tastes scents. They are different through a human nose and mouth, but still stronger than he remembers as a child. He tastes peppermint and cranberry and the sharp, bitter scent of coffee. But most of all, he tastes something that he knows is Kris. Smoky and woodsy, sweet and light.

He tastes _mate_.

For that—for _Kris_ —he will stay.

He licks Kris’s chin as they walk, and hears the laugh, and an answering sound bubbles up inside of him.

He is still wolf. He is still sound and fury, but his hungers have changed.

The hunter has become the hunted, and one day the wolf will be dead and gone, killed as surely as if a huntsman had put a spear through his heart.

He will be human.

He has fallen for his prey, and to Wolf, this is _right_.


End file.
